


You Should Go

by Once_More_With_Feeling



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Friendship, Support, spoilers for the movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-11-08 08:34:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20832488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Once_More_With_Feeling/pseuds/Once_More_With_Feeling
Summary: When Richard invited Thomas to join him in York, Phyllis told him he should go. These are missing scenes from the film, that expand on the support I think Thomas would have gotten from his friends.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I loved the film. I really did. But what it lacked, for me, were a few scenes that show that Thomas has settled into his place and his life at Downton, as butler, and as someone who is deserving of friendship. So I wrote a few missing scenes, most of which build up to Thomas' night out with Richard. I hope you enjoy.

At first, she smiles.

“Hello, Mr. Carson,” she says cheerfully, from behind her sewing machine. “What brings you here?”

The retired butler puffs himself up, smiles broadly, and answers, “His Lordship and Lady Mary have asked me to return to my post as butler, for the period of preparation for—and the duration of—the royal visit.”

Her smile vanishes. He, apparently, fails to notice. “It seems my services are needed,” he continues.

Phyllis puts down her sewing. She swallows, and says quietly, “I see.” Mrs. Hughes enters the servants’ hall and looks at her husband. She shakes her head, but smiles, and turns to greet Miss Baxter. But the lady’s maid is already standing, and has pushed in her chair. “Will you excuse me?” she says, with as much courtesy as she can marshal. Then she lowers her head, and hurries from the room.

She is halfway up the stairs when Mrs. Hughes’ voice stops her. She turns and looks down at the housekeeper, whose smile is also faded. “I believe he went upstairs,” she says. Miss Baxter nods, and resumes her journey to the attics.

***

Just before she knocks on his door, she realizes she should have brought him tea. Or a glass of water—something. But maybe that is too presumptuous. He’s probably just fine. She’s sure he’s fine. She knocks.

He does not answer, so she opens the door a crack, and peeks inside. When he fails to move from his place on his bed, she opens the door a bit further. Perhaps he is asleep. He has stripped down to his vest and trousers, and his feet are bare. He is lying facing the wall, with one arm under his pillow. She steps inside the room, and just then he raises his head, looks over his shoulder at her, and frowns. Then he resumes his previous position.

“Thomas?”

After a pause, he says, “Don’t call me Thomas when we’re working.”

One might argue that neither of them is actually working at the moment, least of all him. She waits for irritation to set it, but it never does. Rather, she finds this remark reassuring. As long as he is irritable or spiky, she knows somehow that he’ll be alright. It’s when he gets sad that she worries.

She licks her lips, and begins again. “Mr. Barrow?” He doesn’t move. “Are you alright?” she asks.

Another pause. “What makes you think I’m not alright?” he answers.

Now she presses her lips together. She allows herself a second or two to think of something to say—something other than what is at the forefront of her mind: _You’re lying undressed on your bed at half past ten on a Tuesday. Somehow that made me think something was amiss. _

Instead she says, “I saw Mr. Carson downstairs just now. He said he’s… returning to his post as butler. And I just wondered… what that means for you.”

He sighs, and says, “If you’re going to come in, would you close the door?”

This is as good an invitation as she is going to get, so she does as he asks. Then she walks around his bed, and carefully sits down on it, next to him. She looks into his eyes, and studies what might be brewing there. After a moment, she is fairly sure it is safe to reach for him. So she brings her fingertips to his slightly mussed hair, and smooths it into place. He is wearing it short on the sides now, and long on top, a cut that enhances the sharp lines of his handsome face, and the steely blue of his eyes. She brushes the longer strands back into place, then rests her hand on the back of his head, and asks, “What happened, Thomas?”

He doesn’t correct her this time, but shrugs, and speaks without looking at her. “They asked Mr. Carson to come back. Seems they think he’ll handle all this better than I could. They don’t need me. So. I’m up here. Doing nothing.”

She continues to move her hand slowly through his hair, and says softly, “I see.” Has he been sacked? That seems particularly unfair. Surely Lord Grantham wouldn’t do that, after… “What did you say when they told you?” she asks.

He shrugs again, as though it should be obvious. “Told them I’ll resign my position for now, if that’s what they want. Let the old coot take over, see if I care. Then I said I’d be happy to resume my services as butler after everything, if they should be so kind as to allow it.”

“You said it like that?” she asks, trying not to sound shocked.

He gives her a little frown. “Not in so many words.”

She moves her hand from his hair to the middle of his back. “Oh,” she says. “And they didn’t sack you?”

“No.” He bites his bottom lip. Is he hiding a smile? “I left the room too quickly.”

She tilts her head, so she can look into his eyes again. Then they both laugh. She shakes her head. “You are amazing,” she mutters softly.

“I know,” he says with a mischievous little grin.

“Cheeky,” she tuts. She rubs his back, and he closes his eyes. “What will you do, then? Now that you’ve a few days off?”

He sighs again, and says, “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll go on holiday.”

“Really?” she asks. “And where will you be off to?

He opens his eyes and looks up at her. “Oh, no where too far, I’m sure. I’d hate to miss it, if Mr. Carson makes a mess of things.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Miss Baxter?” Anna calls. Phyllis turns from where she is standing, near the stairs, on her way to the kitchen.

“Yes?” Miss Baxter answers, once Anna has caught up to her.

“I’m glad I’ve found you. Mr. Ellis—the king’s valet? He’s looking for you.”

“For me?” she says. “Why?”

Anna smiles just a little. “Maybe he needs the advice of a lady’s maid.”

Still confused, Miss Baxter asks, “Then why didn’t he just ask y—”

Anna shrugs, and raises her eyebrows. Miss Baxter nods slowly. “Oh,” she says. “Oh. Well. Do you know where I’ll find him?”

“I think he’s outside. Just out the servants’ entrance, I believe.”

The two maids share a smile for a moment, and then Phyllis turns and heads toward the back door.

***

She finds him just where Anna said he would be; out in the courtyard, near the table and bench where Thomas sometimes sits when he smokes. He stands facing her, but looking down at the table, as though he is studying it. Phyllis walks toward him, and is only a few feet away when he finally looks up at her, and smiles.

“Ah,” he begins. “Miss Baxter, is it?”

“Yes,” she says, returning his friendly look.

“I’m Mr. Ellis. Richard Ellis. The king’s valet.”

“Yes,” she says again. “I remember.”

He laughs at himself, just a little, and answers, “Of course you do. Only we hadn’t been properly introduced, so…” he stops, and nods his head.

She widens her smile, and says, “Well, now that we know each other, is there something I can do to help you? Mrs. Bates said you were looking for me.”

Suddenly the valet blushes, but he doesn’t look away. “Yes,” he says, with another sharp nod of his head. “I was speaking with Mr. and Mrs. Bates. I hadn’t realized that they were wed, when we first arrived.”

He continues to look at her, and waits, as if she is supposed to say something. “Yes?” she prompts, not knowing what else to do.

He gives another modest chuckle at himself, and looks down again. He continues, a bit hurriedly. “Yes, and they told me Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes are married. In fact, they said that there are several small families—within your servants’ family. Is that right?”

She considers this. “I suppose so,” she says.

He grins fully now. “I think that’s lovely.”

She waits.

Now he lowers his voice just a little. “They also said that Mr. Barrow—the butler—er, the… younger butler,” he stammers a bit, then smiles, and presses on. “He is quite like a brother to you?”

She tilts her head a little, and says simply, “Yes. We grew up together.”

“Did you?” he asks, then waits for her to say more. When she does not, he continues. “That sounds… very nice.”

She shrugs a little, but lets her smile remain. “It was nice for me,” she offers.

“Yes,” he says again. “And so I thought I might ask you. Do you know if Mr. Barrow has any interest in—” Here he pauses, just a little. “In marrying?” he finishes.

Suddenly everything changes. A chill runs through her, and she freezes, as if from the inside out. She resists the urge to bring her hand to the back of her neck, where the tiny hairs have begun to stand on end. She stiffens her posture, and takes a shaky breath. She tries to look him in the eye when she speaks, but finds that she cannot. “Mr. Ellis,” she begins. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

He takes a step toward her, and terror seizes her. She closes her eyes, but after a second only, forces herself to open them. She looks up at him now, and is surprised to find that he actually looks completely apologetic.

“I didn’t mean any offense,” he says very softly. “I just thought that you might understand.”

“Understand what?” she whispers.

He gives her a sad smile. “I don’t mean Mr. Barrow any harm,” he says, his voice still low. “I promise you I don’t. If I did, would I be here, speaking to you about him?”

She pauses. “I suppose not,” she answers.

He nods, his sorrowful smile still in place. “I can see you’re very protective of him,” he says.

“I suppose I am,” she agrees.

“Good,” he says, almost a whisper. Then he murmurs something, even more softly. Something that sounds like, “You’ve loved him for a long time.”

“I beg your pardon?” she asks, not having quite heard him.

He shakes himself a little, and looks into her eyes. He smiles. “I said… you’ve known him for a long time.”

“Oh,” she answers. “Yes. All of his life.”

He smiles again, happier this time. “How lovely,” he returns.

She nods. It is lovely.

He takes a deferential step away from her now, and clasps his hands behind his back. Then, softly but steadily, he says, “I think I would like to get to know him, too. And all I meant to ask you is, do you think I’m wrong to hope that he would want to get to know me?”

She lets out a slow breath, and drops her shoulders. His purpose in asking her out here, and his strange line of questioning, haven’t been about some trick to get Thomas in trouble. And he isn’t merely testing the waters, trying to ensure his own safety. He is trying to make sure Thomas will be safe—and respected, and comfortable. In this way, Mr. Ellis reminds her of her dear Mr. Molesley—a thought that makes her smile again. She takes one more slow breath, in and out, before she looks up at him. “You’re not wrong to hope, Mr. Ellis,” she says. “But I would say that if you want to get to know him—if you want to spend time with him, you would have to ask him.”

He gives a last tiny little laugh, again at himself, and nods. “Yes,” he says, once more. “I believe I will. And thank you, Miss Baxter. I appreciate your help.”

She smiles back at him, and then turns, and walks back into the house.


	3. Chapter 3

Later that afternoon, Mr. Barrow takes Phyllis by the elbow as she is entering the servants’ hall for tea. He guides her to the corner of the room, away from the small commotion that is two households of servants pouring their tea.

“Did you mean it, what you said earlier?” he asks.

“What? When?” she says, looking up at him.

He looks her in the eye now. “Sorry,” he begins, then lowers his voice even more. “You said I should go. With Mr. Ellis, to York, since I’m not on duty. So I wondered, did you mean it? Or were you just… being nice?”

She smiles patiently. “Yes, I did mean it. I think you should go.”

He does not look convinced. “Do you?”

Her patience begins to wane a bit, and she says, more seriously, “Thomas. It doesn’t matter if I think you should go. Do you want to go?”

He does not answer right away, and bites his lip. Then he says, “Sorry. I don’t really mean, ‘do you think I should go’. What I mean is, what do you think he means? Asking me to go with him?”

She looks away for a second, at all the other servants. She doesn’t wish for any of them to hear this conversation, but she also doesn’t want to draw any unneeded attention by whispering in the corner. So she smiles cheerily—pointedly—and says, “I think he wants to spend time with you.”

“But, do you think—”

“Yes.”

Over the years, Thomas has sadly gotten better at hiding his delight in situations like this—when he learns that he might have hope. But he cannot always hide the light in his eyes when it happens. At least not from her.

He presses his lips together, suppressing a smile. Then he whispers, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she says, very calmly. “I’m sure. Now let’s have our tea, shall we?”

***

He catches the king’s second valet, just as he is heading up the stairs.

“I think I will go with you,” Thomas says, looking up at him, from the bottom of the steps.

Richard turns and looks down at him. He seems to consider something for a moment, then slowly descends the few stairs he has just climbed, so both men stand level with each other. “Yes?” he says.

Thomas swallows. “Yes,” he repeats. “To York, I mean. If… you’re still offering.”

Richard smiles. “I’m still offering,” he says.

Suddenly shy, Thomas looks down at their feet. “Good,” he says, unable to hide his smile. “I’ll look forward to it.”

Then it is as though Richard has reached out, and placed a soft hand under Thomas’ chin, forcing the two to look into each other’s eyes again. But of course he hasn’t. “So will I,” he whispers, before both men turn and go their separate ways.

***

Richard has said he has an errand in the village before they catch the train that evening. Thomas can’t imagine what a member of the royal household would need to do in Downton’s village, but it’s just as well for him, as it means he can get out of here just a bit sooner.

He is putting on his coat when Mrs. Hughes approaches him. He has been avoiding her a bit the last two days, since Mr. Carson took over. They are equals in this house now, and as butler and housekeeper, they share a very easy and natural camaraderie. Thomas has to admit that he has been apprehensive that Mr. Carson’s recent swooping in will damage not just his professional relationship with her, but the mutual fondness they share in private as well. He half expects that she is coming to give him a dressing down, but instead finds a very reassuring, very familiar look of approval on her face.

“Mrs. Hughes,” he says softly, greeting her.

“Mr. Barrow,” she returns, with a smile, and a nod of her head. “You’re off, then?” she asks.

He nods now. “Yes. I’m going to York for the evening, with Mr. Ellis. I’m not on duty, so…”

Her smile saddens a bit, somehow, and she reaches up to straighten his lapels, which do not need straightening. “I know,” she says softly. Then she looks him in the eye. “Do you need your scarf? It might get cool this evening.”

He grins at her. “No,” he says. “No, I think I’m alright. Thank you, though.”

She nods, and continues to fuss with his coat. She brushes away some nonexistent lint for a moment, before finally resting her palms on his upper arms. She looks up at him again, and says quietly, “Thomas. I want you to have a nice time this evening, and enjoy yourself.”

She pauses, and Thomas answers, “Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. I’m sure I will.”

“But you must be careful,” she continues. “Promise me that you will be,” she says, and raises her eyebrows just slightly.

Suddenly his throat tightens just a little, and his eyes begin to burn. “I will,” he whispers.

“Good,” she says, and her smile slowly returns. “We want you to come back safe and sound.” She gives a tiny laugh, as though this were a joke.

“Yes, I know,” he says, and he is a little surprised to find that he does know. “I will,” he says again.

“Alright,” she says. “I’ll see you in the morning, then.” She releases her grip on his arms, and lets him go.


	4. Chapter 4

The following week, most everything has returned to normal. Mr. Carson has gone back to his cottage. Thomas sits at the head of the table for meals, and manages his own staff quite capably. Mrs. Patmore is fretting at least fifty percent less about what to serve, and Mr. Molesley only comes round once every few days to flirt with Miss Baxter. Thomas and several other members of staff might call his flirting ineffectual, but Phyllis seems to love it. So yes, mostly normal.

What is not normal—or rather, what is new—is the place Thomas’ mind now wanders to, approximately two hundred times per day.

Richard.

What must he be doing? What is he thinking? What is he wearing?

Is he smiling? Is he bored? If he were here right now, what would he say, and how would Thomas answer him? 

He had thought himself so incredibly lucky—just to have found another man like himself, someone he can talk to. A friend.

He has friends at Downton now, of course. But having friends who are sympathetic, and even supportive—that just isn’t the same as having a friend who is queer, too. He remembers daily how incredibly fortunate he had felt that night, to have finally found another man who understood.

But then Richard had kissed him. And that—that had been far more than just good fortune, or a lovely conversation. That had been amazing.

So he carries Richard’s pendant with him now, most all of the time. The first day, he had left it up in his room, thinking it safer there. But he had rushed up the stairs after breakfast to get it, and now he keeps it in his pocket. And Richard is right—it does make Thomas think of him, when he is gone.

He has just finished winding the clock in the great hall one afternoon, when the pendant seems to call to him, from its place in his pocket. He glances around. No one is about. He puts his hand into his pocket, wraps his fingers around it. Then he pulls it out, opens his hand, and looks down at it. He smiles at it, the way he might smile at Richard.

He has got to put it away now, though. He can’t risk someone seeing it, and asking questions. He has just dropped it back into its hiding place, when Lady Mary comes down the stairs, and addresses him.

“Yes, milady. Is there something I can do for you?” he asks, lifting his chin.

But Lady Mary does not answer right away. She looks intently at him, and he wonders what she is considering. What she might know. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she asks, “Would you come with me into the library?”

“Of course, milady,” Thomas says, trying to hide his wariness.

They walk the few steps to the door of the large library, and she stops, waiting for him to open it for her. He does, then stands out of the way so she can step inside first. She walks over to the far sofa, and sits down on it, just on the edge. He follows her and stands a few yards away, looking down at her.

“Would you—” she begins, then gives a tight smile, and begins again. “Barrow, I—” Again she stops. “I need to discuss something with you. I think you may know what.”

Jesus shit, she knows. And now she’s going to sack him. All these years he has served her family, and she knew everything about him, but he has never been arrested for it. And now he has; this has to be it. He’s done for.

“Barrow, I apologize,” she finally says.

_“What?” _he nearly shouts, then immediately collects himself, stands as straight as he can, and recovers with, “I’m sorry, I—beg your pardon, milady?”

She clearly resists a theatrical eye roll. “You would make me say it twice,” she says quietly.

“I—” he stammers again. “I don’t believe I understand, milady.”

She takes a breath, looks up at him, and tries now to smile. “I’m sorry, Barrow. For tossing you aside, in favor of Carson, for the royal visit.”

“Oh,” he says. This is turning out quite a lot better than he had expected. “Well, thank you. Milady,” he hurriedly adds.

Now she raises her eyebrows. “You know I have… a special bond with Carson. I trust him. But I should have trusted you. I can see now you weren’t wrong to wait to… polish everything. You were making a prudent choice, as you always do. The thing is, I panicked. So I ran to Carson, as I generally do, when I’m…” she looks away, out the windows. “In trouble.”

Thomas looks modestly at the ground. “There’s nothing wrong with that, milady.”

“No,” she says softly, still looking away. Then she looks at him again, and he raises his eyes to look back at her. “Having Carson here made me feel better,” she says, and if he is not mistaken, her voice hitches just a little. “But I had very little regard for how it made you feel, and for that, I’m sorry.”

He nods. “Well, milady,” he begins. “It didn’t turn out so badly, did it? Everything went off just fine, from what I’ve heard.”

She tilts her head. “What you’ve heard?” she asks. “Weren’t you still here, during the king and queen’s visit?”

Shit, shit, _shit. _

He takes a few rapid breaths. “Yes, milady, I was. I mean—I was, for the most part.”

“Yes?” she says, with another raise of her eyebrows.

Don’t lie. Don’t _lie—_it will only come back and burn more later.

“I…” he begins, but then he cannot think what to say. How can he possibly discuss this with her?

Then the unthinkable happens. He begins to cry. He has cried in front of Mrs. Hughes, and Phyllis, of course, even Mr. Carson. But this is different. Crying in front of Lady Mary is entirely improper. Not to mention completely incriminating.

She makes it infinitely worse, by standing from the sofa, and approaching him. She stands just a foot or so away, and asks softly, “Barrow, are you quite well? What’s happened?”

He sniffs, and takes a breath, and says to the floor, “I went out that evening. To York. With… a friend.”

She leans away from him just a bit. “That sounds… fair. You weren’t on duty.”

“No,” he agrees. “No, I wasn’t, but… you see, I went… to a place—I swear I’d never been there before! I didn’t know it existed. But I went to a place where… all the men were like me.”

“I see,” she says quietly. “A club, of sorts?”

He chances a look up at her. She doesn’t look nearly as shocked as he had thought she would. She really just looks interested. He nods, just slightly. “And, while I was there, the police came, and… I was arrested. We all were.” He cringes, waiting for her response.

To his surprise, she tuts a little, and he can hear in her voice that she is smiling. “Barrow,” she says. “Surely you are aware that we don’t exactly have a policy in this house, of sacking servants for being arrested.”

He looks up at her, and can’t help but let out a tiny laugh of relief. “No,” he says. “No, you don’t, but…” He lowers his eyes again, in shame. “What I was doing is actually illegal.”

She takes another step toward him now, bringing herself almost inappropriately close. “Well, it shouldn’t be,” she says firmly.

He forces himself to look at her. “No,” he whispers. “No, it shouldn’t.” He nods slightly. “Thank you.”

She raises her eyebrows, and shakes her head a bit, dismissing his unnecessary gratitude. Then she says, “How did you get away?”

“My friend,” he begins, after clearing his throat. “He… didn’t go with me to the place I told you about. He was able to get me out, but I’m afraid I can’t tell you how he did it, or you might guess who he is. And I don’t wish to do that to him, after all he’s done for me.”

Lady Mary takes a small step back, and considers. Then she seems to accept this. “Quite right,” she says, and they both let out a heavy breath. She shakes her head, and says, “Well, I’m sure that was all quite a lot more than either of us planned on hearing, or saying, today.”

He gives her a quick, sad smile, and says nothing.

“Anyway, Barrow, I am sorry. For tossing you aside, as I said earlier.”

She is still sorry, after all that? She amazes him, sometimes. “Yes, thank you. Thank you, milady. I forgive you.”

A very soft smile spreads over her face now. She tilts her head to the side again, and says, “If you ever find yourself in a situation like that one again, Barrow, just remember that I owe you one.”

He returns her smile, then nods, and turns to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At first I wasn't going to include this scene in this story; it seemed like a separate fic to me. But then knullabulla asked me in the comments to try and salvage Lady Mary for her, and it got some wheels turning. Since this story is about the different kinds of support Thomas gets from everyone at Downton, I don't see why that has to be limited to just the other servants. Now I think it fits rather nicely. And I just really wanted to see more of the softness and protectiveness these two have for each other, which the film sadly lacked. Thanks, knullabulla. Hope it passes muster. :-)


	5. Chapter 5

His encounter with Lady Mary makes him somewhat easier in terms of his relationship with his employers, but at the same time, much more guarded with the gift Richard gave him. He still keeps it in his pocket, but almost never takes it out, until he goes to bed each night. He knows rationally that taking it out of his pocket and admiring it that day was not the _cause _of the conversation he had ended up having with Lady Mary. But it seems like exposing it, even for just a few seconds, had indirectly led to exposing himself. And he needs to be more careful about these things. More circumspect.

So he keeps it safe, and unseen, for the next several days.

Then, one afternoon, as he sits in his chair by the fire, he risks pulling the pendant from his pocket, to look at it again. It is getting on toward five, though not yet time to serve the family’s tea. Everyone else is busy, but he has finished with the wine for dinner, and he doesn’t have to lay the table until after he rings the gong. So it seems safe enough to take out his little treasure, and admire it for a moment.

Looking at it must make him lose track of time, or possibly it makes him lose track of everything. Because Phyllis startles him when she says, “What have you got there?”

Bollocks! Where did she come from? He hadn’t even seen her walk in the room. And now she is standing next to him, smiling, and looking right at the pendant. It is too late to hide it. He could lie about it, of course, but… maybe… Maybe it would be alright. To tell her about it. About him.

He looks over his shoulder. No one else is around. “Can you—keep it to yourself? If I tell you?”

Clearly she hadn’t thought that a little trinket such as this could signify such a great mystery. She widens her eyes, and pulls a chair from the table, so she can sit down next to him.

“I can, of course, if you want me to,” she says, softly.

His eyes dart around the room, one more time, to make sure they are alone. “Well,” he begins. “Mr. Ellis gave it to me. Before he left.”

Her eyebrows nearly disappear into her hair. “Did he?” she asks. “Why?”

He gives her a look. “He said… it was so I had something to remember him by. When we’re apart.”

She smiles now, and blushes a little, like she does when she is really happy. “That’s lovely,” she says.

“What’s lovely?” Mrs. Hughes asks. Seriously? When did she get here?

Thomas hides the pendant in his hand, and says quickly, “Nothing. Nothing’s lovely—there’s nothing lovely—here.”

He raises his eyebrows in Phyllis’ direction, and tries and fails to control the blush that creeps up in his face.

“Oh,” the housekeeper says, sounding rather put out. “Well, if you’re sure…”

Still Phyllis says nothing, but gives Thomas a pleading look. She can’t really think that he would… but maybe she does think it. And Mrs. Hughes had practically given him her blessing when he’d gone out with Richard that night. Though of course she doesn’t know what had happened while he was in York. He could probably just tell her—them—the part about Richard becoming a friend, maybe hint at what they had in common. He opens his hand to reveal the pendant again.

“Oh, that’s pretty,” Anna says. “What does the ‘E’ stand for?”

Good Christ, who’s going to pounce next? Maybe he should just call everyone in and make a bloody announcement! _Your attention, please, everyone. I just want you all to know that I went to York one evening last week, on a date with Mr. Ellis. I had a lovely time, dancing in public with another man, until I was briefly hauled off to jail for doing so. Mr. Ellis then rode in on his white horse and rescued me, and then he kissed me, on the lips, before he left the next morning. _

He looks at the three of them, each in turn. Anna looks hopeful. Mrs. Hughes looks—possibly—mildly amused. Phyllis’ eyes are full of pride, and fondness, and devotion, like they always are, whenever she looks at him.

Could they all really want to know? Would he really be safe, telling them? He looks at each of them again, then shakes his head in disbelief at what he is about to do. He looks around the room again, though this time he is sure it won’t do any good. Mr. Carson could pop out from under the table next, for all he knows.

He takes a deep breath, and begins. “Mr. Ellis and I… made a particular… connection, while he was staying here.” He looks at Phyllis first, and is urged on by the swell of pride he can see on her face. “I think… he and I may remain… friends.” No. “More than friends. In future.” He looks up at Mrs. Hughes, then at Anna, who are both still standing over him. He nods. “And he gave me this, to remember him by.” He looks down at the pendant now, and smiles at it. He is suddenly warmer now, and wonders for a moment if the pendant itself had somehow melted something inside him. But then he looks up, first at Anna, who is smiling.

“I’m happy for you,” she says quietly. “If it’s what you want.”

His face softens, and he answers, “Well… yes. It is.”

“Good,” she says, and turns to go.

“Anna, you can’t—”

She turns back to him. “I won’t,” she says. “But I am happy for you.”

When she is gone, he turns to Mrs. Hughes. “That was a lovely thing he did for you,” she says, and for one second, Thomas thinks she is referring to Richard’s having gotten him out of trouble with the police. Then he remembers that Mrs. Hughes doesn’t know about that. Yet.

She steps toward him, and pats his shoulder gently, before resting her hand there. “You were so brave to tell us.” Then she continues, “I know I don’t have to remind you to be careful.”

He shakes his head. “No, you don’t,” he says. “I know. And I will be.”

“I know,” she says, then straightens up. “Goodness, I’d better get on. Here’s me with a thousand things to do…” she says, as she leaves the room.

He shakes his head, bewildered, before he looks back at Phyllis again. “I can’t believe I just did that,” he says.

“I’m glad you did,” she says, with a quirk of her eyebrows.

Worry begins to creep up inside him again, and he says, “But what if Mrs. Hughes tells Mr. Carson, and Anna tells Mr. Bates, and—”

“Thomas,” she stops him. He looks at her. She closes his hand around the pendant, then holds his hand in both of hers. “You are safe here,” she insists.

He squeezes the pendant inside both their hands, and tries to smile. “We’ll see,” he says, softly.

She rises a bit from her chair, and gives him a kiss on his forehead. “You’ll see,” she returns. Then again, “You’ll see.”


End file.
